


Doctor make sure to cut me deeply

by pistolrush



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Accidental cum marking, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Coming In Pants, F/M, Face Slapping, Hands Free Orgasm, Hostile Work Place, I blame the plot bunnies, Internalized Sexism, Intra Office Politics, Kneecap Injury, MC has CAD, Medical Kink, Name-Calling, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS, Sergei Vladimir has a pain kink, Sergei is a sneaky bastard, Sexual Harassment, Submissive Sergei (later), Surgeon Character, Surgery, Sylvie got it bad but denial is fabulous, There will be a part two where it gets nasty, This going to be a three parter, Umbrella sounds like such a hostile place to work at for a normal employee, What Is That Title?, What am I doing? I need to finish the Chapter for my other fic, internalized ageism, older female character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolrush/pseuds/pistolrush
Summary: Sylvie is a patient woman until Sergei pushes one too many buttons.
Relationships: Sergei Vladimir/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, please pull my hands away from my keyboard until I finish my next chapter for WDMHKB. This is just something I wrote due to wanting to cheer my self up a little. I've been kind of blocked due to recent events. And this idea would not leave me alone.

Dr. Sylvie Lavinge was a patient woman. One did not become a leading orthopedic surgeon without an abundance of patience. Nor did one advance in Umbrella without it. 

She was also a woman that knew when to turn waiting into action. Sylvie liked to think it was a trait inherited from her father, a French resistance sniper in WW2. Precision was a skill that saved lives as easily as taking them. 

When the lead scientist of the T.A.L.O.S. project had scoffed at her suggestion to reinforce the BOW’s knees, Sylvie kept quiet. She knew time would prove her right during the tests. She was a master in her field, after all. 

The gait was terrible as they brought the Talos BOW in for the first few tests. Painful and arthritic like an elder before a rainstorm. She could see how the knees struggled to bear the weight. But she kept quiet until the order for the BOW to jump. 

“This is a terrible idea.” She had whispered in French. “Steven, this is not acceptable. Let me reinforce…”

The first jump shattered the knees like glass. Talos didn’t even scream, just buckled to the floor with no grace. She couldn’t keep down a whimpered “Merde.”

Lord Spencer wouldn’t be happy. Heads would roll, and she was just minor enough to be the top sacrifice.

It was eerie to watch the thing writhe on the floor of the lab, no noise escaping it. Struggling to stand on two blown out knees as the AI in its brain demanded it to move. Sylvie felt terrible for it. 

The lead scientist Steven started going into hysterics at that moment. She barely got the “I told you so” out before Mr. Vladimir said something in Russian. He stands up as one of the twin Ivans lifted the blubbering man off of his feet. 

He focused his one good eye on the struggling Tyrant. Sylvie expected bellows and screams. Instead, his voice was calm, almost jovial. He demanded to know why hadn’t the knees been reinforced. Even a child would know to do this. His Ivan’s hand cupped the scientist’s face gently. It was a promise of a crushed skull, if the rumors were to be believed.

“The deadline! Work on the knees would have pushed us past the deadline, Mr. Vladimir.” Steven lied, trying to save his own skin and shove her into a bus. Sylvie cared nothing about her own skin, only the delay for Lord Spencer’s new weapon at such a crucial time. 

And over such a stupid mistake. Reinforcing healthy knees was quick, building an entirely new knee, however... 

“Actually Steven, I mentioned that we could finish the knee surgery in a day or two. It’s body can heal from any surgery quickly. But this injury to the Talos BOW will make recovery two weeks at the least. Thankfully, I’ve already started designing the prosthetics for just this situation.” She had looked up at Mr. Vladimir with a gentle smile.

“I hope that wasn’t presumptuous of me?” Sergei’s attention focused on her and her heart stuttered. There was glee in that look. Glee at the potential cruelty if she didn’t tread carefully. She’d heard the rumors. And she hoped to Christ, that look never got turned on her intentionally. 

Later, when she popped a nitroglycerin because of her chest still hurting, Sylvie congratulated herself on not showing her terror. 

“However, to meet that deadline, I will need Steven… intact. He is the most knowledgeable about Talos’ anatomy besides the Red Queen. It was a simple mistake and surely someone as strong as you can afford a little mercy, non?” 

Sergei looks her up and down. Sylvie hoped she hid her fear. Finally, with a bark of laughter and a few more words of Russian, Steven was deposited roughly to his feet. He let out a sob of relief.

“Dr. Lavigne, you have your two weeks to get Talos operational again. In fact, I’ll make you project leader. But if you two fail, I’m afraid it will require discipline.”

“I will not fail. I will make sure we satisfy you and Lord Spencer.” Sylvie waited until he’d left before sinking against a counter. But she had control. She was the project leader for now until Talos had recovered. Even as the nitro buzzed against the underside of her tongue, Sylvie smiled. 

It was a victory. Things changed for the worst when the accident happened. 

She’d been showing Sergei Vladimir how the work on the prosthetics was going, how the surgery would go. Then one scientist had stupidly gotten her hand caught in a gear of a machine. The fingers snapped to the side, a blood vessel tore.

Sylvie went into autopilot upon seeing the squirting blood. Stripped herself of her lab coat, using it as a tourniquet down to slow the bleeding. Still didn’t save her from a spurt of blood across the face. The woman swayed at the sight, face pale as Sylvie pushed her fingers back into place. A scream of pain left her quivering lips.

Not perfect, but enough to have the bones heal in the correct place. Sylvie guided her into a chair as the younger woman’s knees wobbled. Once the blood flow stopped, Sylvie loosened her makeshift tourniquet.

“Cherie, you’ll be okay. You should really take better care of yourself, I know you want to finish this project but not like this. Go to the infirmary once you catch your breath. Take the next two days off.” She strokes her hair to calm her down.

When she looks up, Sergei is looming over the two of them. An unreadable expression on his face. Gloved finger pressed against his scarred lower lip. Their eyes meet and his lip quirks up into a smile.

“Two days?” His look was quizzical as they helped the scientist out of the lab. Everyone else went back to work. 

“She’s in no state to work, and she’s not needed. We’re ready for the surgery.” Sylvie wiped at the blood on her face with her ruined lab coat.

“Dr. Lavinge, may I make a request?” Sylvie shrugged, using a handkerchief to remove the rest of her subordinate’s blood. When she looks over at him, there is a wide grin on his scarred face. She didn’t know if her racing heart was because of her CAD or attraction. God, she hoped it wasn’t the last one.

“I want to watch you perform the surgery.” She shrugs. 

“Sure… Don’t know why, but if it would please you, then I’m sure Lord Spencer won’t mind.” If Sylvie knew the consequences of that simple, sure, she would have requested a transfer. 

Seeing her so calm while covered in blood seemed to have flipped a switch in him. Every time he came to see her, he was too close. Or glancing with hunger at her hands as she worked on the prosthesis. Never anything to make her run to HR, but enough to make her uncomfortable. 

After the surgery, Monsieur Vladimir was constantly underfoot. His gaze had burned a hole in her back throughout the surgery. Despite the distractions in the shape of a Russian ex-military man and his two pet BOWS, Sylvie performed well. There was a small amount of blood and the scarring would be minimal with proper recovery. 

It had pleased Lord Spencer. Her performance had inspired a rare word of praise at the update meeting she to attend. The soft smile had immediately faded when Lord Spencer then stated that she would be directly working with Sergei. 

“He is one of my best men. And we must make sure this project succeeds.” Sylvie smiled, feeling a frustrated anger coil around her heart. She throws up on the plane ride back to the Caucasus. 

Her recovery work was now constantly interrupted by him swanning in as she worked on Talos. It took several tense encounters between the two of them for her to realize he was presenting himself like some massive, purple garbed bird of paradise trying to mate. Something Sylvie thought she was too old for at fifty-six. 

The realization made her pop two nitroglycerin tablets like candies. Her heart felt like it was in the grip of some great giant. She’d heard nasty rumors about Sergei’s affections, too. That was the first time Sylvie sent a complaint to HR. No reply, of course.

Sylvie tried to ignore him. She would not let some overly infatuated Russian impede her job. 

Especially not today, as she assessed the BOW for any complications. Sedated by the AI in its head, the BOW merely lay there as she assessed the creature’s knees. Steven and a programmer send instructions to the Red Queen for the creature to perform a various range of motions tests. It all seemed to work excellently. Lord Spencer would find their progress quite sufficient.

“Brat, vstavay. Pokazhi khoroshemu doktoru, naskol’ko ty silen,” Sergei’s voice cuts across her next command. The BOW stands without a tremble. Talos’ gait shows no weakness as it walks around the small testing area. Sylvie hadn’t been ready to stress test its knees, but it seemed to do alright. 

She smiled to herself at the lack of clicking to the knees. Another job well done. The smile curdled when Sergei’s hand came down on her shoulder. Steven let out a small squeak at his proximity. 

“Do you think that was reckless of me?” Sylvie took a deep breath before speaking. No weakness, no weakness.

“Yes, Monsieur Vladimir, but if Lord Spencer requests this great push forward in the plan. Then I must defer to your judgement.” His hand squeezes her shoulder affectionately. 

“Please, I told you Doctor, call me Sergei.” She would rather the Talos BOW view her as a potential mate than call him that. But he was her immediate boss. After the test was finished and her staff had left, Sylvie turned on him.

“Monsieur Sergei, I appreciate your guidance for my team. But in the future, please use me for the purpose Umbrella hired me for and consult me on these matters first.” She ran to her room and drank a dose of antacid. That night, Sylvie sent another note to the HR department. 

Sylvie let out a groan of annoyance when her bedside phone woke her later that night. 

“Bonne nuit, qui est-ce?,” She realizes the mistake and corrects herself. That cool, smooth voice makes the question useless.

“Sorry to interrupt your sleep, Doctor Lavinge. I seem to have cut myself terribly and require your help. I’m waiting at your office.” Sylvie winces when her bare feet hit the floor. So cold, this place was far colder than Cannes at this time of the year. She hurriedly dresses in standard issued sweats.

“Apply pressure, Mr. Vladimir. I’ll be right there.” As she left, Sylvie wondered why there was no pain in his voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sergei, I'm sure if you'd been wrong about Sylvie, that lawsuit would have destroyed Umbrella before Wesker got to you. As it is, you’ve let the devil out and I hope you can handle it. And I hope she can take it. Also he says to his Ivans. No, friends. Stand down.

As soon as Sylvie saw him, she knew Sergei also got dressed hastily. His purple overcoat was open haphazardly, a dark stain here and there. Underneath the coat, she caught sight of bare skin and dark slacks. 

Scars forming a map of past pains. She felt attraction rear its head at the thought. And like all unwanted thoughts about her immediate boss, Sylvie snapped its neck like a chicken’s. 

‘I’m to be his little nurse too.’ It was frankly insulting. There were nurses and other qualified people here. But who got the phone call? His favorite stress ball.

A grey-blonde strand of hair fell in her face. She put on a false smile, hating how even with an injury, Sergei focused on her hands first. The rubbing alcohol and first aid equipment jiggled and clanked in their boxes as she maneuvered past the two Ivans to get to her door. 

“Poor comrade Sergei, getting yourself cut at such a strange time. What can I do to help you in your hour of need?” Her gentle tone sounded fake to her own ears. 

Sergei merely gestured to one of his Ivans, who opened his jacket further. Sylvie clutched her box of medical supplies against her chest. 

Against the pale scarred skin of his chest and arms, she could see several long lacerations. Most were skin deep and could be closed with steri-stripes. But at least three would need stitches.

“As I stated, Madame Lavinge, I underestimated. Hence the injuries.” It surprised Sylvie that he spoke French so well.

’But why did he have to speak French like that?’ Like each word was devoured and savored. It was bad enough hearing him speak English and Russian, but her native language was devastating with that voice. Another thought she quickly crushed under her mental heels. 

Sylvie wondered what had caused the injuries, but knowing the rumors about him… she rather not know. Her medication regimen made adding a hypnotic dangerous. 

By her office door, a small puddle of blood had already formed. She was too tired and too old for this crap. Her eyes narrow. That blood stain was going to be a bitch to clean. But she keeps her mouth shut.

Lord Spencer expected her to work with him. And his word might as well be the word of God. She owed him her success. At her lowest point, Umbrella raised her up. Against the importance of the TALOS project and that personal debt, her annoyances with his pet Russian were petty. She was glad however that she hadn’t bothered changing out of her sweats to something more work appropriate. Wouldn’t want him to think she felt anything for him but contempt.

Shifting the small box of medical supplies to her hips, she rummaged for her key card. Cold, gigantic hands plucked the box away from her. One of his Ivans was right behind her. Close enough to reach out and touch her. Her heart rattled along her ribs at the BOW’s proximity. 

Despite her work, Sylvie could never get used to the things. She figured it was some primal instinct that feared the uncanny Valley. Maybe that was why Sergei perturbed her. His ease among the BOWs made him inhuman to her. Primal and frightening, like he was a force of nature. He stood outside humanity. Another thought killed quickly. Her fingers brushed against the keycard.

With an overly exaggerated flourish, Sylvie opens the door to her office. Stepped to the side to let him and his Ivans through. It placed her box back into her hands. She looked around, making sure no one saw them. It wouldn’t do to have more rumors float around. 

It was two am and in three more hours, she’d have to go to the labs. Best to get this done quickly so she could take a two-hour nap. 

“Mon ami, please allow me to take care of you.” Her bleary eyes and wilting smile spoke of an opposite intention.

Sergei only smiles back at her. Unlike her, the late hour didn’t seem to bother him at all. He seemed happy to interrupt her sleep. 

And all Sylvie’s saccharine tone inspired was a twinkle in his single eye. Never in her life had Sylvie hated a man more than in this moment.

Before she could direct him to a chair, Sergei took a seat on her bare desk. Stretched himself along the length of it invitingly. Inviting if Sylvie was stupid or crazy. 

‘Merde,’ Sylvie thought. ‘I eat there. I must disinfect the desk later.’ Scratch that hope for two hours, she might catch an hour nap and have to drink four cups of the standard Umbrella coffee. With a sigh, Sylvie resigned herself to a headache afflicted day. 

The Ivans stood impassively as she dumped the box of medical supplies into a chair. She rummaged in the box for the vial of lidocaine. Her syringes were in the top drawer. 

Unfortunately, reaching for them put her in the range of Sergei. A large hand covers hers. It feels hot, and the texture from all the scars was intriguing. Monkey part of her brain wondered how they'd feel inside.

“Dr. Lavinge, if you are going to use Lidocaine on me, there is no need. I have a high pain tolerance.” Sylvie didn’t pry, only gestured for him to sit up. Unbeknownst to her, a sadistic grin grew on her face. He lets go of her hand. 

But not before letting his fingers run gently along the palm. There is a long moment of him looking at her like a cat who got the cream. If his Ivans weren’t there, Sylvie would have slapped that smirk right off of his face. Instead, she dons her gloves after opening the alcohol.

‘Oh, I hope you’re bragging, you Russian slut. You uncouth prick! I hope it makes you cry like a boy that lost his ball.’ Her voice however was cloyingly sweet as she opened a package of gauze.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vladimir, I only have rubbing alcohol. My shipment of hydrogen peroxide was due to arrive tomorrow. And you’re refusing the lidocaine. You have that right, after all. So if this hurts, don’t think it’s intentional. I try to keep my patients comfortable.” 

Sergei doesn’t even flinch as she cleans his wounds. Sylvie hoped he wouldn’t talk to her. But no such luck.

“I know you try so hard, but no need to worry about it with me.” His voice was softer than usual. He lets out a moan each time she pressed down against a deep cut. Sylvie ignored that. 

“As you can see from my scars, I have a lot of experience with pain from both ends… hmm, you’re gentler than I imagined you would be.” 

He purrs at her. Purrs. The next day off she promised herself a glass of the Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque Brut she’d brought to celebrate TALOS’ recovery. A small one, of course, but Christ, she needed it. And a lengthy letter to HR was going to be written. 

Sylvie threw the gauze and gloves into her trash can. Replaced them, focusing on the task at hand to get over her aggravation. And the way he looked at her with that familiar glee. Opened the suture kit to get the worst over and done with. 

“Mm-hmm, what makes you think that?” She makes the first stitch and the groan he let out was perverse. Despite her hatred of him, Sylvie squirmed at the sound. Felt a bolt run through her nerves, a sympathetic response to his obvious pleasure. Sergei reached over and ran his hand along her back. 

“You seem to despise me, daragaya. Don’t think I don’t notice how you look at me. As if I’m a new species of cockroach. Though I don’t know why. I try to be cordial despite my nature. One might say this accident is because of my urges needing to be tamed.” 

His cologne smells like oranges. That one eye bores a hole through her thoughts as if he knew the depths of her confusion. Before she could swallow back her first thoughts, they came pouring out. 

“Ah, I see. You thought my contempt of you would lead to a rougher experience, tonight. I wasn’t aware you thought so low of me.” He didn’t move when she flinched at the thought of it. 

“Monsieur Vladimir, I’m quite able to keep my personal feelings out of my work. But may I be frank with you?”

“Yes, daragaya.” He stills as she does her work. His hand leaves her and she sighs.

“I… I’m confused by you. You’re attractive for your age, in a place of power, and could fuck anyone you want. So why chase after a fifty-six-year-old with sagging breasts, two grandchildren, a bad heart and a contempt of you wider than the Mariana Trench is deep? It makes no sense. Older men chase younger women. That is the nature of things. Even my ex husband has his ingenues. So are you into older women or is it something else?”

Sylvie finishes the last stitch, seeing that her shaking hands did nothing to her skill. It is straight and should heal without a scar. She is silent, standing there with a heart beating too fast and a body that was too old to understand his desire for her. 

‘Do this quickly before the lack of sleep makes me say something even more stupid,’ she thought. Sylvie starts on the next wound with a fresh suture kit and gloves. Again he moans lewdly, as if she’d wrapped a hand around his cock. 

“You’re right, daragaya. I could have anyone here if I ordered it. But I’m an old man, and I hate being bored. Besides, I like how you work. That gentle smile which doesn’t quite reach your eyes, the way your hands deftly play along the flesh. It’s more attractive than some pretty thing who easily shatters if played with too hard.” 

“I’m no sadist, Sergei.” It was the most unconvincing lie she’d let slip past her lips.

“But we both know that shipment of hydrogen peroxide came in yesterday, Sylvie.” That purring was so distracting. He was distracting. She was trying to be professional.

“Lay back and keep still, please. I don’t want to mess up my stitching.” 

Sylvie finished the current wound and went down to the lowest wound. It was then that she realized two things. One: that the Colonel was enjoying this procedure far too much. His erection was straining against his slacks. The second thing was the man was huge… in all areas. Her mouth went dry at the sight. How did his previous lovers handle that thing?

It was then that Sylvie realized she’d made a mistake. She was in what her colleagues colorfully called “The Splash Zone.” Named so because getting splashed with gore meant a two weeks long quarantine sitting on tenterhooks. That was this situation except if Sergei decided to follow his ‘nature’ she’d spend those two weeks on a bag of ice... Sylvie started suturing with a rapid pace. 

‘Faster, faster, faster’ her brain screamed at her. Get it done and just sleep this off. Lab didn’t need her today. It was just calibrations. She’d take the day off. See if there were openings at the other Umbrella facilities. The Paris facilities seemed pleasant enough last time she was there.

Denial was sweet bliss. Sylvie would not acknowledge that her boss was lying on her desk, writhing in pain filled lust. Letting out moans that made her ache. Looking at her with the sort of desire that hadn’t come her way since she turned forty-nine and her husband left. She was also not going to look down at his monster of a cock straining to be set free from his pants. Just stitch away until it’s done. 

The strategy was sound until Sergei came hands-free from the pain of her last stitch. His whispered Russian made her blush bright red. A wet stain materialized on the fabric. But there was so much that some leaked past that waistband.

Immediately, Sylvie backed away. Her attempt to escape stopped when she backed up into an Ivan. 

Her gloves, some of his cum got on her gloves. With disgust, she yanks them off. Throws them like they’re on fire. 

“Darayaga, I’m sorry. Please,” Sergei looked smug, even happy as he sat up. Even sitting, he towers over her.

Sylvie slapped him before he could continue to insult her intelligence. It was a good slap. The sort that said ‘shut your lying mouth up.’ Even if her hand throbbed as soon as it struck his cheek. Even if she felt warm and light-headed. It felt good to do it. That smug look softened to amusement on his scarred face. 

“Nyet, comrades. Uspokoit’sya.” In an instant, Sylvie felt that righteous fire cool. She’d forgotten about the Ivans. Later, much later when her sanity returned, and she had time to think about what they’d done, Sylvie was glad a myocardial infarction didn’t drop her on the spot. 

One Ivan had stalked toward her from the side, the other unseen. As soon as he spoke, the Ivans went back to their neutral positions.

“I’m so sorry.” For a moment, sanity tried to reassert itself. Screamed at her to run back to her bunk. Pull the covers over her head and never speak of this again. Pretend it was a dream. If she didn’t gain control, her life was going to spiral like an out of control merry go around. She quickly yanked her hand back down. 

“I’m sorry. Let us never speak of this again. I’m deeply regretful for striking you.”

“No, you’re not.” That amused grin was still there. For a man close to her age, Sergei was acting too much like an unrepentant brat. 

“You’re right. You’re a fucking Russian cocksucker. A greedy mutt that thinks he can get whatever he wants because Lord Spencer humors his whims. Well, you won’t get me.” Her voice is as sweet as antifreeze. Might as well get her genuine feelings out considering that she was about to lose her job. 

If she was lucky. More likely, Sylvie was about to experience the full combat prowess of TALOS. There was no way she was getting out of this unharmed. She felt tears burning behind her eyes. Maybe if she opened her legs just once to let Sergei get it out of his system, it wouldn’t have gotten this far?

What she didn’t expect was two of his fingers to enter her mouth as he pulled her closer. He laughed at her indignation. The two fingers so large her mouth felt stretched wide. She felt salvia pool against her gums.

“Doctor, please calm yourself. I will not punish you anymore than human resources are going to listen to your pleas for a transfer. So if you really hate me, why not use your experience to punish me for being so boorish?” 

Sylvie presses her fingers into a freshly sutured wound, all while pulling off of his fingers. His breath hitches. Sylvie wondered if it was because of her tongue licking his fingers or the sensation of her nails dragging along the raw cut. 

“You disgusting creep, this was your plan all along.” She kisses the back of his hand.

“Yes, did it work?” Sergei attempted to look innocent. But it really didn’t work for him. He reached out again to touch her, and she slapped his hand away. Then she gently smiles at him.

“Mr. Sergei, I don’t think you are sorry enough for coming on me. Show me by getting on your knees,” He did. 


	3. Pauvre lion, les lionnes sont plus mortelles (Part 1 of two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be in your delightful hands? I hope you got some sleep.” She tips back the rest of her coffee before replying.
> 
> “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” She rests her chin in her hands. But doesn't break eye contact with him.
> 
> “I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t even check your office. Don’t you want to see if I was a… good pet.” His voice was a low purr. Sylvie looks past him, suddenly very interested in the wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God I don't mean to be a tease. I had to split the draft into two part. First part where Sylvie realizes that Sergei isn't going away. That he wants her to hurt him and it isn't a joke. Second part is the explicit smut where I had to research so much medical kink/extreme play kink that I've secured a spot in hell. So again sorry, the next part should be up soon. And that part is going to be extreme.

“Mr. Sergei, if I’d known how willing to please you were, I might have done this earlier. Instead, you acted like a brat and now there is all this bad blood.” Sylvie sighed, before running a hand through his white hair. He caught her other hand in his. Scarred mouth working on each finger like a lollipop. His tongue licking and laving along the pads. 

She let out a whimper when he sucked hard for a moment. Her knees buckled, thinking on how that suction would feel against her thigh or somewhere more intimate. She hated that thought. Thankfully, the desk was right behind her. Sylvie knew she couldn’t appear weak. 

Despite how tamed he might seem, Sylvie knew a single slip up and she’d end up like Morpheus Duvall. Disavowed and stripped of clout, stuck in some insignificant post away from the proper work. If not dead, there was always that possibility. Fear only made this play more fun, despite her heart beating too fast. 

Sergei’s unscarred eye gleamed with amusement. Too much for how annoyed she was with him. And before she pulled his hair harder in retaliation, there was that delicious suction again. Right against her thumb, making her shiver. Sylvie’s breath left her in a gasp 

‘Oh, this brat! Over eager little bastard! Kneeling will not gain my forgiveness.’ She cleared her throat twice before putting a foot on his thigh. Pulled his hair to establish dominance. Though that was a joke when she was five ten and he was easily seven feet. Sylvie knew who was truly in charge. 

“Sergei, you seem to have a lot of experience with getting on your knees. Is that how you got so far in the company? Willing to suck and fuck your way to the top?” She hissed when his teeth sank into her thumb. Tightened his grip around her wrist to a frightening degree. Her heart stuttered in her chest. 

“Ow, no teeth! Did I hit a nerve?” His eye narrowed as he pulled off. The intensity of his glare felt like a laser beam through the head.

“I’ve worked for everything I have, Lavigne. Unlike you, my father didn’t catch the eye of a corrupt aristocrat. But…” He licks her fingers again. “I’m willing to forgive your faux pas. Isn’t that what your people call it?”

“Fine, let us forget... I said that.” His mouth closes around her thumb and she sighs. 

‘Be firm, don’t let yourself become one of his many conquests.’ Sylvie hardens her resolve. Pulls her fingers from his mouth with deep regrets. Because the gossip about his mouth was true. Strokes his lips before pulling back. Not before he kisses her palm, which makes her knees wobble.

“If you truly want my forgiveness, Monsieur Vladimir, I need proof of your contrition.” Her mind raced on what to make him do. Lick her shoes? Crawl up and down the hallways with a belt as a leash? Maybe even have his two pet BOWS take him until he cries? 

No, Sylvie had the feeling he’d like that. After all, he so openly chased after her, an old woman. Humiliating him wouldn’t work. Then she noticed the streaks of blood across her desk and floor. 

“Contrition? How Roman Catholic of you, dorogoy.” Sergei stands, towering above her. It took all of Sylvie’s willpower to remain calm. To not reach up and pull him by his hair or bite his neck or something even more impulsive. She wouldn’t touch him until he apologized. 

“It’s unavoidable where I was raised. Not all of us have the fortune of being raised as an atheist.” She closes his coat, pointedly ignoring the chance to run a hand over his scars. Pats it down and smiles. “I’ve decided your penance. Clean my office.”

“I see.” There is a smirk on his face and Sylvie wants to slap it off of him. She stays her hand as she already sees a reddened area on his cheek.

“No, Mr. Vladimir, you don’t see. If there is one spot of blood on my office floor when I come back here, you can use this event as your masturbatory fantasy. Because I won’t touch you even to save your perverted life.” His smirk gets even wider. Before she can stop him, Sergei is leaning over her. Sylvie knows she’s being caged in.

“Does that mean if your office is clean, you’ll stop running like a scared krolik?” He’d said something else in Russian, she thinks. But Sergei was whispering it directly into her ear. His warm breath made her neck tingle. All she could pick out of it was dear, hunger, hurt me and pet. He steps back, leaving behind the scent of mint and citrus. 

Sylvie takes a deep breath, her heart beating so fast she’s feeling dizzy. This man was going to kill her if she wasn’t careful. She rubbed at a stain on his jacket with a disaffected mien.

“It means that you can follow instructions. And that means you’d be worth my time. I have no time to waste on pets that don’t behave.” She sidesteps him and he allows her to do so. “Bon soir, Sergei.”

“Did you not want to watch me work? Since I’ve spent the last six months watching you.” Sylvie shrugs as she walks past his Ivans.

“I’m an old woman and unlike you, I require sleep. Remember not a single spot.” She is already halfway out the door. All but runs due to fear. What would she do if she stayed? Would he even want that tightly laced side of herself? 

“Dobroy nochi, Sylvie. Sleep well.” His voice follows her.

####

Sylvie chokes back another sip of her cup of coffee. Then attempted to focus on the long list of minor adjustments for TALOS’ progress. They’d come a long way, but there were still glitches to correct. Normally, focusing on these things was easy. She’d educated herself on the Red Queen and how she interfaced with the BOW. 

Sylvie even understood why there was a one point five second delay in TALOS’ reaction time at certain times. This was because of the strength of the signal. They programmed the Red Queen to fix that. So the topic wasn’t boring her. She loved this sort of work. 

Even as the hard wooden chair dug into her back. Or the programmers nervously looked between her and Sergei, who’d finally joined the meeting. No, her lack of focus was because of only getting an hour and a half of additional sleep.

Despite Mr. Vladimir’s well wishes, Sylvie hadn’t slept well. She’d tossed and turned, her frustrated body making her have the sort of dreams that a teenage boy experienced when puberty struck.

Dreams of Sergei’s face as she cruelly denied him pleasure. Of making him wear a horse’s bit while she whipped him. Of how his mouth had felt enclosing around her fingers. Of how he sounded when he’d come. She’d woken up and taken a cold shower.

Sylvie hated Sergei too much to admit defeat and just take care of the problem. She refused to get off with the thought of that scarred Russian brat in her head. There was no way she could go back to sleep. After getting dressed, Sylvie almost gave in and walked to her office to check. She’d gotten coffee instead. 

Now she sipped at her coffee, not noticing that Sergei was forcing her team to play les chaises musicales until she felt his presence far too close in her personal space. She sucked her teeth and continued to drink her coffee. It was too early in the morning for this. 

“Are you okay?” Her assistant mouthed to her as she looked up from her copy of the report. They were all looking at her expectedly. 

To her horror, she’d let her mind wander. Mostly so she didn’t think about how close Sergei was to her. The smell of citrus and mint making her tremble. 

Sylvie nodded, before pouring herself a glass of water. Her hand shakes until Sergei grabs a hold of the water pitcher. Their fingers touch. She ignores him.

“I’m glad to see so much progress has been in TALOS’ development.” She knew when to give praise. Sweets before the bitter. “However, I feel we can do more to fix these glitches. Lord Spencer deserves nothing short of perfection. I want a list of fixes in two days.” She drinks the water down. Almost chokes on it when Sergei undermines her.

“One day. You are far too generous with them, Dr. Lavigne. One day is all I will give your team for solutions or there will be consequences.” Her hand trembles. The only slip up in her professionalism at this point.

She looks up at him with a gentle smile. His expression was calm and satisfied. Despite the mark on his face, he was impeccable as ever.

“If Lord Spencer requires solutions in one day, then my team will have them for you.” Anger makes her voice raise an octave. But she remains polite. “On that note, this meeting is over.” 

The rest of her team filed out in a hurry. It was only after they left that Sylvie spoke. She spoke carefully, in case someone walked in looking for a forgotten personal item. “How are you, Mr. Vladimir? I hope your injuries aren’t paining you.” 

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be in your delightful hands? I hope you got some sleep.” She tips back the rest of her coffee before replying.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” She rests her chin in her hands. But doesn't break eye contact with him.

“I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t even check your office. Don’t you want to see if I was a… good pet.” His voice was a low purr. Sylvie looks past him, suddenly very interested in the wall. 

It was a pale yellow; she remembered reading that it boosted mood. The color was doing nothing to help her. 

“No, I want to eat my leisurely lunch unmolested. Then I’ll check my office. If I like what I see, I’ll let you know.” Her continued refusal to make eye contact betrayed her nonchalant tone.

If she didn’t look at him, maybe he’d ease up. Though deep down she knew better. And deeper down, Sylvie wasn’t even sure she was still mad about that fact. Being chased was a forgotten pleasure. Just why did it have to be Sergei Vladimir?

“Would you like my direct extension to make contacting me easier?” Surprise forced her to make eye contact with him. His intact eye transfixed her, and she suddenly felt like a giddy girl with a crush. 

‘Stop this train of thought, Sylvie. He’s just interested in you because you’re a novelty. Once he gets what he wants, he’ll be gone.’

Sylvie noticed that the smile on his face was wry and hungry. She leaned back further into her chair, crossing her legs at the ankle. 

“De quoi... Est-ce que vous parlez?!” She quickly corrects herself. Clearing her throat due to how husky she sounded. “If you want to, Mr. Sergei. I can’t stop you. But please…” 

Sergei strokes her hand with a single scarred finger. She lets out an undignified noise. Halfway between a squeak and a moan. Couldn’t click her teeth together fast enough to keep it in. Her resolve wavers and she’s tempted to sink her teeth into his shoulder to make him wear another mark of hers.

Sylvie stands, abruptly breaking contact with him. Even standing, Sergei sitting is still bigger than her. The size difference is exciting. 

She brings her pen out of her suit pocket. She turns over the list and slides it over to Sergei.

“Here. Write it on this and I’ll get back to you.” It comes out uncharacteristically prim. He smiles up at her as he does so. She clasps her hands together to keep them from shaking. Sergei slide the paper back over to her. 

“I hope your office is to your satisfaction.” Sylvie snatches the paper up. 

“Oh, I know you certainly hope so. But I doubt it. Enjoy your borscht or whatever you Russians enjoy for your lunches.” 

Sylvie lied, of course. Sergei might appreciate honesty as he was always quick to tell her team, but he never had to deal with the Byzantine politics of an Umbrella research team. Misdirecting her intentions was how she’d gotten so far. Of course she was going to check her office as soon as possible.

She pauses in front of her office door. Uncertain of what she was going to find. One part hoped that Sergei was playing une saloperie on her. That this was just one big sadistic joke. Like that boy back in Cannes. But Sylvie’s gut told her differently. And she was terrified of it. Sylvie opened the door.

“Putain de bordel de merde!” She stepped back. It was clean, no sign of what happened anywhere. He was serious, he really meant to have her. Or for her to have him. She felt dizzy, breath coming out in pants. Heart quivering to an abnormal rhythm. It caught her between ecstasy and dread. Like St. Theresa struck by the arrow of God’s love, though Sergei was as far from God as the devil himself.

“Nom de dieu de merde.” Her mouth felt dry, head too large.

Sylvie stumbles to her desk, also free from Sergei’s blood, to get her nitroglycerin. One tablet slid under the tongue and she relaxed. There was no point in terror now. Only a choice: run or give him what he wants. Sylvie was no coward.

Under the scent of rubbing alcohol and cleaning products, she can smell Sergei’s scent. He’s marked this space as his own. Her phone rang.

“Is it to your satisfaction?” Sergei’s voice flows along her nerves. Makes her trembling hands stop beating a tattoo on her wooden desk. 

“Yes. You knew I would not eat.” The words come out of her in a rush. 

“I didn’t. It was truly a guess.” Sylvie could hear the insincerity. He was far too calculated to leave something like this to chance.

“I don’t have my toys here. I have a surplus of twenty-five gauge needles, but that might be too painful for you. Most subs don’t like that sort of extreme play.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sylvie knew she’d tipped her hand. A man that came while being stitched up would not be scared off by the hint of more pain.

“Then I have to pull rank and demand to see you immediately. Did you want to eat your decadent French food or do you mind blini?”

“I’m willing to try blini. I’ll… I’ll be at your office in five minutes.” She hung up the phone and sighed. “Stupid old woman, what the fuck are you doing?”

####

Sergei already had two glasses of vodka set up for her on his desk. A plate of crepes was also there. Something she’d only noticed after sinking down into a black plush chair, a box of needles and rubbing alcohol at her feet. His two Ivans watched her passively as she grabbed the cup of vodka. 

His office was pleasant, old-fashioned, with lots of wood and dark colors. She was about to take a sip of the vodka but remembered her meds. Sylvie puts it down. The plate of crepes were tempting, but she was too nervous to eat anything. Sergei sits down behind his wooden desk. His plate was already empty. Between them on the desk was a brown wooden box. 

Sylvie was afraid to ask him what was in the box. She was afraid of a lot of things. That she was going to be mocked. Or she’d wake up alone in her bunk, this some lurid dream.

“If we’re going to do this, I want you to know that I’m only doing this because I despise you. I’m hoping you’ll get this mania for me out of your system faster. Your desire for me to pervert my training for you makes me sick.” She smiles. 

Sergei chuckles. “Dr. Lavigne, what does it say about you that you came as soon as I called?”

“If humoring your disgusting fetish gets you to leave me alone, I would break the sound barrier getting over here.” Sylvie picked up her box and slid it over to him. “Don’t you want to open your present?”

“As soon as you open yours.” Sergei’s smile was a fearsome thing. It was oddly endearing. He gestured to the wooden box. 

“Fine.” Sylvie took a deep breath and opened it. Inside was a bottle of lubrication, a black box with the word Love Link written in swirling letters across the box and a short sjambok. That made her blanch. If Sergei had his Ivans use that on him, no wonder he’d needed stitches last night. The thing was more torture implement than sex toy. 

It makes a whistling shriek as she swung it. Then she sets it back down into the box. There were other things, but she didn’t explore further. This was just a onetime thing. No need to see what 

“My, my, you’re a massive pain slut. I wonder who introduced you to this dreadful thing, pet?” She doesn’t even try to correct herself. There was no point in it. Her mask slipped already.

“A little blonde kukla I used to know.” He sounded almost wistful before opening her box. It was like watching a boy open a Christmas gift, if that boy was a massive, scarred one eyed Russian. He carefully arranges the needles, gauze and alcohol on the desk.

“Have you used these before, Dr. Lavigne?” He looked gleeful.

“Mr. Sergei, I’m a doctor. Of course, I’ve used these before. Or do you need a demonstration?” Sylvia stood, dusting off an invisible speck. Then she pulls her hair back, wouldn’t do to have an errant lock of hair getting in her face. His gaze remains locked on her hands. 

“I’m always eager to try new things, Sylvie.” He picks up her plate of crepes and sets them to the side.

“Good, then undress me. If you’re going to be a pet, then you need to learn to service me.” Sergei looms over her, forcing her to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. His gigantic hands come down on her shoulders. Slides down over her shoulders before they rest on the first button of her cream shirt.

‘Oh, my… What have I done?’ Sylvie puts on a brave face.

“Shall we begin doctor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't mean to take so long to post things. Some other notes to include:
> 
> The chapter title translates to Poor lion, lionessess are deadilier. 
> 
> His Ivans helped Sergei clean up Sylvie's office. I can imagine he went, "Come boys! Daddy wants to get Dommed!" In Russian of course. 
> 
> Somewhere, an employee is wiping off a number on the "It's been __ days since Sergei slept with an employee" board with a disappointed sigh.
> 
> Putain de bordel de Merde means Fucking Fuck or what in the fuck
> 
> Nom de dieu de merde means In shitty God's name. 
> 
> Sylvie doesn't like cursing but having Sergei prove he's not playing is a bit stressful.


End file.
